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November


To those who don’t see deeply

you are bland, lifeless, dull.

Color does not distract

from your humble beauty.

You are stripped, bare, essential.


This is the way of things.

I like you like this.


I have always commemorated

the inevitable waning of autumn

with wistful longing for what was.

Now, I’m content knowing your time

marks the boundary in between.


Your stillness holds me.

You are reassuring and solid.


How manifold you really are.

With leaves absent, the foundations

of things come into view.

All adornment and ornamentation

have departed.


If only I could mirror

your humble, quiet strength.


You fortify yourself to embrace

the pain in your future.

In so doing, your struggle is lessened.

I take your teaching to my breast.

I feel roots growing from my feet.

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